


The Mind like Crystal

by DamnthatGeko



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: All the nastiness that comes with coughing up flowers, Coughing, Essek Thelyss-centric, Essek makes a choice to be a better person, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, gratuitous use of imagery and metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:15:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29686587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DamnthatGeko/pseuds/DamnthatGeko
Summary: He is Shadowhand Essek Theyless. He grew up with ink on his palms and parchment between his fingers and spells on his lips. But here, in the Mighty Nein's garden, he rolls up his sleeves and fills a discarded watering can. He waters flowers with dirt scraped hands and wet, expensive boots and his hair now messed and falling in his eyes.It's here. On top of the Xhorhaus' tower, watering flowers that shouldn't be able to grow, here he makes his first decision.He decides to embrace the changes the Mighty Nein have started.
Relationships: Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 15
Kudos: 142





	The Mind like Crystal

**Author's Note:**

> I know nothing about flowers. I also didn't have a beta, I definitely didn't capitalize everything I should.
> 
> Posted between ep 126 and ep 127.

It’s a few days after he visits the Mighty Nein for dinner that Essek starts coughing. It doesn't worry him, it is the time of year when small illnesses abound in Rosohna He is too busy to pay it much mind, and the return of one of the two missing beacons has complicated his life beyond belief. He is taking careful steps and his mind is distracted by thoughts of a band of strangers who invited him to dinner. 

It's a single yellow petal, clinging to his tongue and filling his nose with a bright sweet smell that makes him think of a hot summer day that he's only ever experienced in the hypothetical. It is limp in his hand, a messenger that has already delivered its message.

He holds it in his hand for too long, he doesn't know why he can't put it down. He thinks he knows its message, it tickles at the back of his mind.

In hindsight he knows that this is where it all starts. The moment where he starts to realize, to come alive. But when he was in the moment it was just a strange occurrence that felt like a warning. He had no idea what it would mean for him.

He scrapes the yellow petal off his palm and into the trash on his way to work. He doesn't have the time for this.

Something is changing. He can feel it in his gut and in the way his mask slips at his daily tasks. It's as though he shed his skin at some point and cannot put it back on. Things he has taken for granted have become grating, he finds less guilt in pleasure, and less pleasure in power.

He realizes it after they create the spell for Nott together. He felt this new flesh, now freed from his old skin, pressed against Caleb and Nott in a hug and he thinks, _this._ What _this_ is, he is not sure. He hopes its friendship. But he cannot use the word, he has taken too many long hours discarding the word in favor of success and focus.

The next day it is excruciating, his mask is false, his skin fits wrong, his eyes are clear. He spits a full yellow bloom up onto his desk that evening. It scratches at his throat all the way up and he's left coughing and gagging for minutes to clear his airway.

Whatever this is. It's become a problem, he will have to handle it.

His mind is like crystal, sharp and clear, unburdened with the murkiness of unacademic thought. Or so he tells himself, a man drowning in the swamp of new emotions he has long denied himself. Still, he remembers enough of basic magic safety to find what he's looking for. What he has is rare, but oh so appropriate.

It has several names, the flower curse, wizard's lung, wildmagic residue. It can occur in practitioners of magic, especially those who delve into new magical territory, where the defenses against the effects of magic against the body are thin. In essence, he learns that he is a prime candidate.

Essek's research tells him it manifests as the magically altered body's response to stress created by strong feelings --primarily negative-- from the victim. It seems to appear most often with stress caused from interpersonal relationships, platonic or romantic. 

_Great_ , he thinks to himself in the dusty halls of the Marble Conservatory. _I'm sick because of a broken heart_.

He hates that his mind goes to the Mighty Nein and Caleb.

Is this his cosmic penance? Does he feel guilty? Does he hate the Mighty Nein for making him care about them? Or the Dynasty for making him unable to be truthful to them, to give them the trust they deserve. ...that they've given him.

The flower is called a yellow alstroemeria. He feels like he's seen it before. There are few flowers in Xhorhas, and even fewer in Rosohna. He has seen only one spot where they've grown and he avoids it for days before he can gather the courage.

They haven't returned nor sent word for weeks. He is certain they are not home. But he remembers a housekeeper, so he visits clandestinely. 

He searches the Xhorhaus' grounds for half an hour before he thinks to check the top of the tower. Sure enough there they are, a row of pots nestled amid the clinging roots of the tree. Somehow they are still alive despite Caduceus' absence.

Essek runs a finger over the petals of one of the yellow flowers. They're beautiful, fresh, bursting with color and potential, change, growth. He can't look at it for long, he fears blinding himself.

The flowers in his lungs won't kill him if they're managed properly. But the Mighty Nein might as well be killing him. They are slowly suffocating the old Essek under brilliant yellow blooms, tough kindness, and trust. 

He blinks the brightness from his eyes and turns, he sees a bed created by the bowl of two roots, within sprout a riot of tall plants that reach towers of flowers into the dark sky of Rosohna. They are a burst of orange and red and as bright as Caleb's hair. He will find out later that they are called snapdragons, and he will remember the moment he laid eyes on them. It is because he thought with intent, _they are like Caleb._

He is Shadowhand Essek Theyless. He grew up with ink on his palms and parchment between his fingers and spells on his lips. But here, in the Mighty Nein's garden, he rolls up his sleeves and fills a discarded watering can. He waters flowers with dirt scraped hands and wet, expensive boots and his hair now messed and falling in his eyes.

It's here. On top of the Xhorhaus' tower, watering flowers that shouldn't be able to grow, here he makes his first decision.

He decides to embrace the changes the Mighty Nein have started.

\---

It's a careful dance. One he thought he knew. But the stakes are higher now, and the steps unfamiliar all over again. He has forgotten he dances over corpses.

Essek pushes for the second beacon to be returned. He smooths ruffled feathers in the dynasty and in the empire alike. He makes himself a balm to the powers at play. He worries after his friends.

Yes, he lets himself think _I can be their friend, if they'll still have me._

It's at the party to see off the Empire delegation that it all comes crumbling down on his head. They are beautiful. Every single one of them. They wear their individuality better than the well-tailored clothes they don.

He is more nervous than when he stole the beacons. It's absurd. He condemned two kingdoms to war but these ragtag adventures are causing him to use every tool in his arsenal to stay calm and collected.

He catches Caleb's eye for the first time. He is speaking to Ludinus Da'leth that should concern him, it should make him worry for the safety of his ruse, but he finds he doesn't care because he is too caught up in Caleb.

It is more than his smart coat and gold embroidery. It is his combed and styled hair and the bright blue ribbon taming it begins his neck. It is the way he speaks and the tilt of his chin. He is elegant and honest in a way that sends Essek spinning.

He could go to him. Caleb has no idea who he is, he could ask him to dance, feel his hand in his, his body close. They could dance as Caleb Widogast and Lord Desran Thane, and for a moment Essek could be allowed to be--

His chest twisted painfully and he feels a corresponding spasm. The sleeve of his coat is not the ideal place to cough, nor is it the best to hide flowers in, but he manages.

There is a bright orange curl of a petal on his cuff when he pulls it away. It is unfamiliar and he has just enough clarity of mind before Jester comes across him to realize that it's not alstroemeria before she is on him.

He doesn't have time to think more on it that night. The night he makes his second decision. 

He decides to try. To be honest with them.

\---

After, he has dark days and days that, while not bright, are filled with the grey twilight of hope. On the latter days he knows he can change, that it is good that he cannot slip back into his old life. On bad days he finds himself unable to trance or to concentrate or to complete any work to his satisfaction.

His cough is horrible for the first two weeks back in the Dynasty after the beacon is returned. He spits up whole flower heads, both alstroemeria and snapdragons. He finds his voice failing him more and blood in his saliva. There is a permanent, potent mix of sweet floral and copper sent perpetually at the back of his nose.

He takes a certain vindictive pleasure in his condition, his curse. It reminds him every day to do better, to push for peace, to bring justice and renewal to the people of the dynasty. He tastes blood in his mouth and he is glad of it. It means he still cares.

Essek pushed himself. Trancing is another moment for the new, dark parts of his mind to return and whisper his failures to him. Like a pendulum, his mind is alternatively buzzing with thoughts so loud he can barely sort through them, or crystal clear as a glass of water. Both are intolerable, so he tries not to think at all.

He reaches out to Verin for the first time in a decade.

He's not sure why he does it at first. They have never been on good terms, not since their father died, and even then it was hardly called good. But he found himself looking at two alstroemeria petals in his hand one day and before he realizes what he's doing, there's a quill and paper in his hand instead.

It's awkward, but they exchange a few letters. Verin is cool at first, and Essek wonders if this is a reflection of what his brother has experienced for the last fifty or so years from him. He can hardly remember the man made of crystal he used to be before the Mighty Nein. No, he can remember, he just can't understand him the same way.

When Essek finally builds up the courage to see Verin in person, it's not as bad as he imagined. They never were and never will be close, but he hopes they can foster respect. The Taskhand is polite but there's a sliver of something that makes Essek at ease. It's the slightly too loud laugh and slightly strange jokes Verin tells that feel like bright flowers peeking through grey dynasty fog. It's like he's found a spot of sunshine on a cloudy day, his own little piece of the Mighty Nein in his brother.

He finds himself sincerely and utterly grateful that the war is over. Verin does not risk his life everyday against the Empire like he used to a few weeks ago. He hopes this is a sign of progress in himself.

Then he notices the shadows.

Someone -- _someones--_ he is reasonably sure there are at least two groups tracking him, are following him. He knows they are there, he sees shadows dart in alleys and over rooftops when he leaves his house. Inside he is still hunted, he has to erect new protections against scrying around his home after the first few prickling alerts of watching eyes on the back of his neck.

He knows he's being watched. So why does he feel like he's being paranoid?

The dynasty --the Bright Queen-- doesn't know. Cannot know of his treachery. But he feels eyes on him at all times. 

An old thought reappears in his mind. _No matter how hard I try, or succeed, all my achievements will mean nothing_. 

So it is little wonder that he jumps at the chance to be stationed at Eiselcross.

At first blush he hates it there. His cough, still the worst it has ever been, becomes dry and even more painful. It is harder to hide the floral aftermath, it's not like there's a convenient place to dump flowers on the top of the world. So he preoccupies himself with the running of the camp.

Essek tries to bring good to the outpost. The efficiency of the camp improves markedly, but more than that, he requisitions the best supplies and comforts possible for the soldiers, guides, and researchers that are stationed there. He pretends like he is getting good things for the Mighty Nein. He isn't sure he's doing this "good" thing right.

He hates that he doesn't know. Hates that he isn't perfect, he wishes he could lift what they mean by "good" and coalesce it. If he could shape it into a diamond so he can study its facets and set it within his own crystalline prism mind.

But his friends --he hopes they are still friends-- have not spoken to him in a while. He is left with shadows, alstroemeria and snapdragons, and the murky, muddy waters of morality for him to wade through. Alone.

He is better alone anyway.

It's only when he has realized he doesn't mind the Aeor outpost that the Mighty Nein crash back into his life. He is so relieved to hear Jester’s voice that he doesn't notice that his cough has abated for the few days before they arrived. He is filled with anticipation, fear, and excitement.

Essek isn't sure what he's going to say to them. He has a speech at one point. At another point his mind tells him to leave for Rosohna before they arrive so he didn't need to look them in the eye. Why was failing these practical strangers harder than failing his mother?

He knew the answer and he hated that he did.

He's right. He can't meet their eyes, he tries though. They are exhausted and they want his help, but he needs to try for them.

All except Caleb, he still has the taste of snapdragons and hot chocolate on his tongue and he cannot look. For he fears the light those eyes carry, and the refracted fire that could catch in his soul. But it's guilt that truly weighs his gaze with lead and iron. 

If he thought the shadows hunting him were the worst of his problems, he was woefully mistaken. The Mighty Nein bring with them the end of the world. This shouldn't surprise Essek. This time however, he is made of new flesh that knows how it would be like to die, he fears for others. His abilities might save him but what of the Mighty Nein, Caleb, and Verin?

It's too much.

The guilt, the self-hatred, -- _yes, it is self-hatred he feels--_ the shadows, the sentient city, the light forsaken flowers growing in his chest cutting off his air, it is all so much. He feels so small. For once in his life he feels confined only to his body. His small, mortal body.

It is Caleb's touch that grounds him. It is Caleb's words that destroy him.

"Time. It takes time," Caleb says with a hand on his arm and the soft touch of his fingers against Essek's cheek.

He breaths in and for once he smells the scent of Caleb, paper and ink, blood and animal, instead of the smell of flowers. For a moment he is flesh and bone under another person's touch.

Then it is gone.

And he is alone like he requested. He hates it. His mind becomes hard planes of glass around him once more.

He coughs so hard that he has to brace himself against the wall and sink down to a crouch. The buzzing void of breathlessness takes him for what feels like an eternity but it must have only been a moment as he sucks in freezing Eiselcross air into his lungs.

Essek feels like he has been running downhill the past month, desperately trying to keep his feet under him. He is hurtling towards something. He feels lost. But despite it all he has hope, Caleb said to give it time, and he would. If anyone could save him and damn him, it would be the Mighty Nein.

Here he makes his third decision. 

He is on his knees with petals in his mouth and tears in his eyes that burn in the cold. Here he decides to listen. To give it time. He can only persevere and hope. No, believe. Believe that he can untangle the mess he has himself in, to untangle himself and his friends. 

He will give himself the time he needs to fix things. Time to heal.

\---

Long ago they had offered to take him with them. He had thought that offer was long rescinded. So when they offer again he is surprised, but delighted. His horizons open up like a flower opening to the sun of a new day.

Essek doesn't stop coughing up flowers when he leaves Rosohna for good with them. It's progressed to a stage where he must drink special tea, and keep a supply of potions to restore his bruised and bleeding throat, but it's manageable.

He tells Caduceus about it almost by accident, and somehow that makes everything better. Caduceus tells him that recovery is a slow path. Strangely enough, this odd firbolg has heard of the malady. He tells him that despite what the books and romanticized stories say, the flowers in his lungs or the feelings in his heart won't disappear the next day. Essek will have to spend the next day, week, year, century, unraveling his feelings. He will spend years thawing.

That is fine, he decided to give himself time after all.

It's both harder and easier to do than he thought it would be. Harder because starting to unravel years of ingrained habits and tearing down walls put up to protect himself, is all hellish work. It leaves him bleeding and bruised. But it's easier because he loves the Mighty Nein. Because they're there for him, there's always at least one ear open, one smile to see, someone willing to be genuine with him. There is always at least one sun in his sky.

And some days he hopes they will love him too.

So it's with a start after five months of traveling with them, that he realizes he hasn't seen stem nor petal of the yellow alstroemeria flowers. He is still coughing up snapdragons, but it's intermittent now, and his throat has stopped being ripped apart daily.

He realizes that he's… happy.

It comes to him at a strange moment while they are setting up camp around the fire amid chilly and tall evergreen trees. Everyone's breaths leave their mouths like dragon fire. The camp fire is just crackling and there is an argument brewing over if they should crack out Calebs tower now or eat the fancy meal they had gotten as a gift in the last city for dinner.

It doesn't matter though, because Essek is wrapped in warm furs with his tired legs stretched out in front of him and Caleb has taken the chance to squat beside him. He is holding out his spellbook, asking for some insight that Essek realizes he hasn't heard. He is too lost in making camp with his friends --he has friends!-- and in the snapdragon red of Caleb's hair in the firelight.

Essek had always known who that flower was for. It had just felt… dangerous in his mind. Like a dagger placed in the hands of whomever wanted him to suffer. Funny then, that he had taken the dagger and plunged it into his own heart.

"Essek?"

"Hm-- what? Oh, I'm sorry. I was distracted." Essek pulls himself back into the moment, focusing his attention back on where Caleb crouches beside him, his spellbook now half closed.

"It's okay, it has been a long day, ja?" Caleb studies him with amused eyes and then plucks something from Essek's collar, brushing the backs of his hands across his cloak to smooth out the wrinkles as he does.

Essek loses his breath as Caleb holds up a snapdragon petal, almost glowing in the firelight. He twirls it between his fingers thoughtfully.

"Essek, I am glad you joined us. I never thought you would leave Rosohna."

"It was where I became," he waves a hand in the air, trying to illustrate something he cannot articulate. "You know, and I thought it best to leave, to see who I am outside of the politicking and the dens, outside of the Luxon religion. I thought perhaps it was best to remove myself from a place that contributed to my… past decisions."

Caleb nods "Yes, sometimes you have to leave." His expression is that of someone traveling through dark places in his head. 

This time it is his turn to reach out to Caleb. His turn to ground him. His hand is rough and the snapdragon petal soft under Essek's fingers. He can love the Mighty Nein, he can love Caleb, no longer trapped in the crystalline halls of his mind. Let the snapdragon and alstroemeria petals fall from his lips if they must. They will not stop him.

It's at that moment that Essek makes a fourth decision.

He watches Caleb, the way a stray lock of hair falls behind his ear, the way the freckles stand out against the skin of his cheeks. He watches the way his mouth forms around the words he speaks, and his clever hands on his spellbook.

And he decides.

He decides to let his body be his body, his mind be his mind, free from its crystal prison, an animal like the next person. A person like Jester, like Beau, Fjord, Veth, Yasha, Caduceus… a person like Caleb.

Essek decides to live.


End file.
